


Mystrade Goes Grocery Shopping

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Grocery Shopping, Jealous Mycroft, M/M, mycroft needs help, someone tries to flirt with Greg, too many choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 10:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Just what the title says. Come on how could this not be funny?





	Mystrade Goes Grocery Shopping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heelofpatroclus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heelofpatroclus/gifts).



> heelofpatroclus mentioned in a Tumblr post why didn't anyone write about Mystrade going grocery shopping. In fact I had, just hadn't gotten around to posting it. Thanks to antheas-blackberry for noting that pulp is referred to as 'bits' in the UK. :P

            Mycroft Holmes studied his surroundings and turned to his partner. “Exactly what are we doing here, Gregory?”

 

            Greg rested his forearms on the cart-handle; readers perched on his nose as he studied his list. “We’re shopping, Mycroft, like I told you.” He looked over at his boyfriend and put his glasses away.

 

            “When you said ‘shopping’ I thought perhaps you meant for a new suit or a different piece of art for the space above the mantel.” Mycroft responded hopeful this really wasn’t happening to him. Any minute Greg was going to say, ‘just taking the Mickey out of you, love.’

 

            Greg chuckled. “No, love. We’re grocery shopping.”

 

            “Gregory, I have people to do this for us.” Mycroft patiently explained.

 

            “That’s fine when we’re too busy, but we aren’t too busy today. Besides this is a good way to find out what the others preferences are. I think you’ll agree once we get started.”

 

            There was no way out of this. Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. “If you say so.”

 

            “C’mon.” Greg reached out and gently tugged his partner’s coat sleeve and headed towards the produce section. “It won’t take long if we work together.”

 

            After only a short time in the store Mycroft could see Greg had a point. He knew Greg loved fruit, but he didn’t realize berries were his favorite fruit, particularly raspberries. Greg now knew that Mycroft had no idea Brussels sprouts grew on a stalk. The elder Holmes brother was grateful Greg took his lack of knowledge in stride. He was also grateful that Greg was of the same opinion that Brussels sprouts tasted like dirt.

 

            They were also pleasantly surprised by each other’s breadth and depth of knowledge regarding cheese. There was a minor disagreement regarding bread and what kind made the best toast. They at least agreed that English muffins were better than crumpets. Neither of them understood the fuss about bagels.

 

As they neared the end of Greg’s list, the DI made a suggestion. “How about you get the milk and juice and I’ll get the laundry detergent? I’ll meet you over there.” Greg gestured in the direction of the refrigerator section. “Think you can handle that?” He said with a twinkle in his eye.

 

Mycroft gave his partner an exasperated look. “Seeing as I am capable of much more complex decisions, yes, I ‘can handle that’.”

 

“Well off you go then,” Greg said with a smirk and shooed Mycroft in the direction of the milk.

 

Mycroft found his way to the dairy section passing by the eggs, butter and the rather pedestrian cheese. He stopped short in front of the dairy case and stared. Dear God, he thought. Where was the milk? Almond milk, soymilk, rice milk? None of this was milk. None of this came from a mammal. He walked down a bit further and sighed with relief. Finally, liquid from cows udders.

 

            His relief was short lived. Milk, there was a plenty, along with kefir, yoghurt and cream, but what kind? Whole, 2%, no fat? Chocolate? Mycroft closed his eyes and thought. 2% would be best—a compromise between whole and no fat, a non-decision decision. He rolled his eyes as he reached for the container. He hated those kinds of decisions. On impulse he picked up a large container of vanilla yoghurt. It might be nice to have with the fruit they were getting. Oh, and butter too. He’d want butter with his toast.

 

            Cradling his choices in one arm, he moved further down to confront the juice. “Insanity,” he muttered. This was nearly as mind boggling as the milk, perhaps more. Maybe Brexit wasn’t a bad idea. He began to imagine the increase in productivity of the British worker if they didn’t have to spend so much time choosing their groceries. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket with his free hand and absently rubbed his itchy nose. So many different juices and combinations were present. He contemplated momentarily what pineapple-mango might taste like, disgusting he decided, as he pocketed his handkerchief.

 

            Closing his eyes he thought back to when Greg would drink juice. Orange, he recalled. Greg would ask for orange juice breakfast when they would go out. Opening his eyes he looked at the part of the case where the orange juice was and his heart sank. Somehow settling on orange juice did seem to limit his choices, but not by much. Mycroft looked at the container of orange-pomegranate juice and wrinkled his long nose with distaste.

 

            However, he still needed to choose between no bits, high bits and all the bits in between. There was low acid and juice with added calcium and vitamin D and one brand seemed to have every vitamin added to it. There were low sugar varieties, though closer inspection revealed they were loaded with artificial sweeteners. How that was better, he had no idea. Did he choose a juice from concentrate or not from concentrate? Did it matter if the oranges were all from Florida? Or was a mix of oranges from a variety of countries better?

 

            Mycroft felt a sweat break out across his forehead and his heart started to speed up. Really, was he going to have a panic attack? Here, in a Whole Foods in the middle of London? He didn’t have a twinge of apprehension facing down the head of the KGB in the middle of St Petersburg. Why would he completely fall apart over juice? He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

 

            “Bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” A cheerful female voice cut through his rising anxiety. He suppressed the urge to jump and opened his eyes. Gazing down to his side he found a middle-aged petite blonde woman smiling up at him with a kind expression. Not Eurus then.

 

           “All you want is juice; it needn’t be so complicated.” She nodded indicating the display in front of them.

 

            “No,” he found himself agreeing. “My partner asked me to get juice. I know he prefers orange juice, but…” The befuddled man gestured helplessly.

 

            “Can I help you figure it out?” She offered.

 

            “I don’t know that you could.”

 

            “Let me ask you a few questions and we’ll see.”

 

            Mycroft really had nothing to lose. “Go ahead.”

 

            “Children?”

 

            “No,” he answered quickly.

 

            “Heartburn?”

 

            Mycroft thought a moment. “No.”

 

            “Diabetes?”

 

            “No.”

 

           "Weight issues?”

 

            “Not for him.” She gave Mycroft an incredulous look and he blushed, as she smiled and shook her head.

 

            “Well that leaves us with the trickier choices.” She studied him. “Prefer fresh squeezed?”

 

            “Of course.”

 

            “This one then.” She selected a container of not from concentrate with low bits. “Think this will suit?” She handed it to Mycroft.

 

            He gratefully accepted the bottle. “I hope so. I believe your guess is better than mine,” he replied grimacing.

 

            She laughed. “It is just juice. It’s not like the fate of the world depends on your choice.”

 

            “Not in this matter at least,” the British Government muttered.

 

            “My!” Greg called down the aisle as he approached.

 

            “Is that him?” the woman asked. Mycroft hummed in agreement. “Oh, he’s lovely. Definitely keep him.” She patted his arm and melted away down another aisle.

 

            Greg brought the cart up to his partner. “Any trouble?”

 

            “No, not at all. It is only juice, Gregory.” He placed his items in the cart.

 

            “Oh good, low pulp. I knew you could figure it out.” Greg gave his boyfriend an affectionate nudge.

 

            “It was a straight forward deduction,” Mycroft replied, not at all revealing it wasn’t his own.

 

            “Let’s pick up something prepared for dinner and head to check out, yeah?”

 

            “Alright.” Mycroft was more than ready to go and was happy with the idea they wouldn’t have to cook dinner.

 

            As Greg turned the cart, he looked over at Mycroft. “What do you fancy…” Their cart smashed into another cart rounding the corner.

 

            “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Greg apologized hurriedly to the pretty young woman pushing the other cart.

 

            “Oh my fault, I’m sure. I was looking at my list.” She smiled at Greg with wide eyes.

 

            “I wasn’t looking either, I’m sorry to say.” Greg returned her smile with one of his thousand watt grins. Mycroft’s mouth turned down at the corners. “We were just trying to decide what to pick up for dinner.” Greg inclined his head toward his partner but did not break eye contact with the young lady, correction hussy, Mycroft noted.

 

            “They have a wonderful soups and excellent salads. You should pick some up.” She fluttered her eyelashes slightly. Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the trollop.

           

           “Do they?” Greg asked.

 

            “Yes. It’s near the checkout. I could…”

 

            “That won’t be necessary,” Mycroft interjected. “I am sure we can find it. Thank you for your suggestion. Come along, Gregory.” Mycroft marched away, hoping he was going in the direction. Greg thanked the young woman and hurried after his boyfriend.

 

            “Does that happen often?” Mycroft asked as they rounded a corner.

 

            “Does what?” Greg was genuinely puzzled by the question.

 

            “Women hitting on you in the grocery store,” huffed Mycroft.

 

            “Now, My, she was just being helpful.” Greg tried to placate his partner.

 

            Mycroft successfully thwarted the desire to make a rude noise. “Fine. Are women often ‘helpful’ to you in the store?”

 

            Greg shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

 

            Mycroft was silent for a moment, and then spoke. “I believe I would like to accompany you grocery shopping more often.”

 

            “Oh, would you?” Greg said surprised by Mycroft’s about face on grocery shopping.

 

            “Yes. You’re correct; it is an excellent way to learn what things you like. Then I can keep the kitchen appropriately stocked, thereby negating the need for you to shop at all.” Mycroft was pleased with his rationalization.

 

            “Thus reducing the likelihood some pretty bird will catch my eye and take me away from you?” Greg teased his lover having accurately deduced the real reason.

 

            “Quite so.”

 

            “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.”


End file.
